


Till Death Us Do Part

by pogopop



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogopop/pseuds/pogopop
Summary: Marci is way too smart and wants to know why Foggy hasn't mentioned Matt lately. Foggy is privately grieving, then he gets a call which might flip over his new reality. Post-Defenders.





	1. Till Death Us Do Part

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic. Please be kind! This doesn't go anywhere much, but I guess it could? Let me know if you think I should keep going.
> 
> Inspired by this prompt: https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/9408.html?thread=17878464#cmt17878464

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marci is way too smart and wants to know why Foggy hasn't mentioned Matt lately. Foggy can't handle the jandal. Post-Defenders.

“Till death us do part, Foggy Bear.”

Foggy jerked from drowse to half-wake, and opened his eyes a crack. This was a bad idea, as bright light pierced daggers into his head. Marci’s studio apartment was painted a stark white. Not ideal with a hangover. What had there been? Wine, then gin. Maybe. He firmly closed his eyes.

“Nggg. You don wanna marry me, Marci.”

“Marry you? Of course not. Plus, I don't think the state allows more than one spouse.”

Foggy decided remaining horizontal seemed best. How much had they drunk the night before? “Good, because I don't want to marry you, either. Wassa time?”

“It's after 10. I'm evicting you.” Marci ripped the cover off and joggled the bed.

“Out. There's coffee on the kitchen bench.” She gave a larger bounce and stalked off. It sounded like she was wearing heels? He was fairly certain she hadn't worn them to bed.

Ugh. Foggy’s hangover was going to be monstrous. He needed to get in to the office to work on the Caulfield case. What better way to spend a Saturday when Matt...

 _Matt_.

The familiar chasm opened in his belly. He'd forgotten it, under the cloud of alcohol.

 _Matt's dead_.

“So anyway. Isn't that what the vow is? ‘Till death us do part'?” Her voice floated over from the kitchen.

 _Matt's under a building_.

Foggy slowly levered himself upright. Had they had chartreuse? He tried opening his eyes again. “Why is it so bright in here?“

“Because it's a beautiful day, the sun is shining and I want to know why you haven't mentioned Murdock in weeks.”

Fuck. Marci was way too smart. Foggy could feel himself start sweating.

“You and Matt have never liked each other. Why start caring now? I thought this was drinks and sex.” Foggy attempted a deeper breath. No nausea so far. Good. He could make it to the coffee.

“Put some pants on. Because when someone never mentions their spouse that's generally a bad thing. And yes, it's drinks and sex, but I'm not a completely heartless bitch.” Her voice softened. That was remarkable, and suspicious. “I'm worried. You're sad. And more than you were when you started at HCB.”

_Because then, Matt was still here._

“Let me guess, Marci. You followed the yellow brick road to the Emerald City and found the Wizard.” Foggy shook his head. Bad idea, the headache loomed larger. “It's the gin, everyone cries when they drink gin. And Matt and I aren't married.”

When had boxer shorts become so complicated? Three holes and only two legs. He solved the puzzle, and staggered in the direction of the coffee smell. 

“Foh-gee Be-ar.” Marci sighed strongly through her nose and gave him a stern look. She looked disgustingly perky. “I don't cry when I drink gin.”

“That's because you're a fembot.” Hot and black, the way _Matt_ drank it. “Got any creamer?”

Marci laughed and pushed over the creamer. “Yes, I am a fembot. Good spot, Austin. I don't care if you didn't officially get married. You are de facto married and have been for years. So what's up with Murdock?”

Foggy stirred in the creamer and hid his face in his mug. It was a little like a marriage. They'd lived together so long, shared debt for a while, shared secrets. Well, most secrets.

_How much does a building weigh?_

“I didn't think fembots were capable of feelings. I've got to get to work, and Hogarth will notice if I look like I've slept at a distillery.”

“Franklin. Stop being evasive.”

Foggy winced.

“Matt's fine." 

 _Yeah, apart from that building_.

“I just don't see him much any more.”

_And I never will again._

Foggy could feel an anguished sob rising in his chest. He needed to leave. He swallowed hard, pushed the feeling down.

“You're a terrible liar. This isn't over, Franklin. You can't just misplace a husband.” She was studying him. He dropped his head.

“Not married,” he mumbled, drained his mug and placed it on the counter. His shirt was hanging off the back of a barstool. He pulled it on, fumbling with the sleeves.

“Till death us do part. Go and talk to him. You nearly drowned me with your tears last night.” Marci leaned over and started buttoning his shirt. She was too close. He could feel the pain rising in his chest again. He swallowed again.

_If I could, I would._

“Yeah, sure Marce. Thanks for the coffee.” He turned away searching for his pants. There they were, on the floor on the other side of the bed. He put one leg in and half toppled onto the bed. As planned, of course. He stayed on his butt while inserting the other leg.

Marci gave another sigh. He glanced up, expecting a glare. But her face was soft. That was terrible. She was terrible. She couldn't know. He couldn't tell her.

“Why don't you, you know, bring him for drinks. I don't hate him”. Foggy grunted, non-comittally. “At least then I'll be able to see that he's alive.” His breath caught.

_But he's not alive._

He forced himself to breathe, and stood. Grabbing his jacket from the floor by the front door, searching for his shoes. She was watching him so closely. “See ya, Marce.”

“Drinks, next week. We can even go to that Kitchen dive you two like. I do a mean line in marriage counseling.”

Foggy fled.


	2. Smashed Avocado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy faces his grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kept going. And it's a lot longer this time. It's also rather more angsty than I intended. 
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments, I appreciate them very much. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Foggy walked purposefully down the street. It really was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, which wasn't that terrific for his hangover, but it was definitely a good thing. He was a successful lawyer at a prestigious law firm. His best friend definitely hadn't disappeared beneath a giant pile of rubble. He was happy and carefree. Carefree enough, indeed, to whistle as he walked.

And he was hungry. And the cafe he was walking past smelled very good indeed. It looked to be a nice place, too. Foggy stopped whistling, took a slightly less than graceful turn to the left, entered the cafe, and found a quiet posse in the corner. He was still getting used to being able to splurge a bit. It was a change from the habits of a lifetime. There was a menu on the table but he knew why he was here. A server approached and took his order for coffee, poached eggs and bacon. The question came out of nowhere.

“Would you like to add smashed avocado? We have a special on this week.”

Foggy gaped. Smashed avocado? Was that a thing?

“It's super delicious. It'll go awesome with your eggs.”

The server smiled expectantly. Foggy closed his mouth and nodded weakly. The server smiled brightly, and spun on her heel.

He wasn't going to linger on the avocado. He was happy and carefree, after all. No dead friends here. Nothing to see but a guy having brunch. He fished out his phone and pulled up the Bulletin's site, scanning the headlines. The cleanup at Midland Circle was progressing, but there really wasn't much coverage on the whole incident. It wasn't like The Incident, after all. Not much mentioned on the Daredevil front, which he assumed was Karen's doing. Plus, she'd said that Ellison wasn't very keen on crime and vigilantes which now seemed a blessing. There was something about a petition for a new subway line, and an art gallery opening. Foggy's food arrived, and he turned his attention to important matters.

The avocado was indeed smashed. Foggy wondered how violent one would be when smashing an avocado. It looked soft and vulnerable. Especially without its protective skin. And its stone was missing. Halved avocados stayed fresher longer with the stone in, Foggy knew that. But what happened after smashing? Or did you remove the heart, no, stone, first?

“It's just fucking breakfast, Nelson. Eat up,” he muttered under his breath.

___

  
Avoidance really was a wonderful thing. Go through life the way you think you should. Act the part of the happy and successful lawyer, and that's what they will see. Don't hint at the missing (dead) best friend and no one will know. Dodge the polite queries.

_“Matt? Oh, you know, after Nelson and Murdock closed we went our separate ways.”_

Or,

 _“No I haven't seen him just lately. But he always shows up._ ”

Or,

 _“He's a busy guy. We all are. Hey did I tell you about that new Mexican place?_ ”

A shrug and a grin.

The lies were sucking him down.

He wasn't sure how long he could keep it up.

He decided to go and see if Matt's apartment needed cleaning. It wasn't because he missed Matt. The Caulfield case was mostly under control and he could go in to the office tomorrow.

Foggy hadn't been to Matt's place since his quick visit to grab the suit. Before that, the argument in the hallway when Matt had told him that Foggy was better off without Matt in his life. Foggy hadn't been sure at the time that Matt meant it, but it had still been like a knife to the gut. Which he imagined felt something like glass in the side. Or a bullet in the arm. All things which fucking sucked without having the decency to kill you outright. Well, the knife probably would. He let himself in with the spare key he'd never given back – having a spare had been one of the conditions for moving forward together.

The place was a disaster and smelled slightly musty. Of course, the earthquake. Matt had been caught up in all that stuff almost immediately after. He'd cleaned up a bit, though. The floor had been swept in places, debris against the wall. The kitchen bench was clear. Matt had clearly set up a home office with printer and filing, and that looked untouched.

Matt had always been a stickler for order. Which of course made sense, and was probably a combination of personality and necessity. Foggy was pretty messy, but he could just see where his stuff was. Matt liked to know that when he reached for something it would be exactly where his fingertips expected it to be. Matt _had_ liked to know that. This mess would have been awful for Matt, it was hard for him to know that he'd cleaned everything up. He'd have to check by touch, and that was time consuming. They'd had a system when they lived together. Foggy kept his mess away from Matt's spaces. Foggy dealt with sharp things like broken glass, and he took out the trash. Matt wiped down surfaces and ordered items on benches and the contents of cupboards. Foggy cleaned the toilet because the cleaner made Matt gag.

Foggy threw his jacket over the back of the couch, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the broom and started sweeping.

He couldn't get the phrases out of his head.

_Till death us do part._

_Smashed avocado._

Matt was dead. Smashed. And Foggy was here. Without Matt.

He swept and thought. So. He'd known that Matt might not come back. But really, he hadn't thought that it would happen. Because Matt always came back. Sure, he'd been hurt pretty bad more than once. So it was inevitable. And that was why Foggy had been able to go to work and pretend nothing was wrong. That he was the same happy go lucky guy.

There was a feeling at Foggy's temples. It was like the corners of his eyes and the ends of his eyebrows and the skin at his temples was pulling down. Foggy knew it wasn't noticeable, he'd checked. But it was like his face was pulling down at the edges. The feeling had started when Karen had turned and cried into his shoulder, and had never really gone away. Foggy had known. He'd taken a deep and calming breath, and pulled on the mantle of pretence.

Swish swish swish.

He swept from the bathroom door towards the bedroom. The barn door was open and Foggy peeked in. Ah, Matt had cleaned properly in here. His bed was immaculately made. Of course. Foggy hesitated, feeling like this was some sort of violation, and stepped into the room.

_Best damn avocados._

The feeling over his temples was stronger.

He walked to the wardrobe and slid the door open. Hangers with Matt's suits. A couple of hoodies. Clothes he'd seen Matt in so many times. Matt grinning at him. Matt eating Thai food and talking with his mouth full. Matt with his head cocked to the side, a slight frown between his brows, listening to Foggy. Matt focused and annoyed and arguing his point with clarity and grace. Matt with the court room in the palm of his hand. Matt relaxed and happy, leaning against him on the couch and laughing at Foggy's silly descriptions of the movie they were watching.

 _Till death do us part_.

Foggy suddenly felt overcome. A wave rose, high, higher, higher still. His stomach dropped away. His legs felt weak. He staggered back to the bed and fell onto it. A wail rose from his throat. A high keening noise that he couldn't control swelled out of him. He fumbled for a pillow and shoved it against his mouth. The noise rose and rose until it took over his whole body. It came from some primal place, as though his body were saying ‘I grieve’.

_I cannot accept that he is gone, but I must._

_I must wail and rail and this is too much to contain._

_For I loved him. And I love him still._

A small part of Foggy's brain watched, cold and clinical and curious, while screams and gasps and ragged breaths shook him. He had no control, and he didn't care. He hadn't known that humans were capable of noise like that.

_Matt._

_Why did you leave us?_

_I'm so fucking angry at you for dying_.

He didn't know how long it lasted. There was nothing outside the storm.

Eventually, slowly, so slowly, the storm died away and Foggy was left hiccupping and gasping gently, curled on his side on Matt's bed with the pillow clasped to his chest. He felt hollow, gouged out. Empty of everything.

He wiped his eyes with a shaking hand and pushed himself up to a sitting position. Well, that had been interesting.

He stood up and looked at the bed. The covers were rumpled and the pillow was soaked. He straightened the sheets as best he could then made his wobbly way to the kitchen. Matt probably had beer in the fridge, and if what had just happened didn't warrant a beer, Foggy didn't know what did.

There was beer in the fridge, and not much else. Which was lucky since the power was apparently out. Foggy tested one of the lamps he'd put in Matt's kitchen just after he moved in, and that didn't work either. Matt had been missing, what, three weeks? Foggy had paid the rent for a couple of months but he'd forgotten about utilities. Well, that meant he wasn't staying here once it got dark, billboard or no billboard. He checked the time and was shocked to see that it was late in the afternoon. Maybe he should go home and watch something comforting like Star Wars. Maybe tonight he should skip the bottle which had been his regular companion since losing Matt.

What a fucking stupid thing to say. You didn't lose people the way you lost phone numbers or sweaters.

Foggy wandered back to the couch with his warm beer and flopped down. What now? Did he tidy the apartment and pretend everything was sweet, keep paying the rent while this weird Museum Of Matt gathered dust? Or did he clear it out and move on? That was the most sensible, but it was going to invite questions. They were going to have to lodge a missing person report and concoct some story so that Matt wasn't linked with Daredevil. Ok. He didn't need to think about this now.

Dusk was pooling in the corners of the room and the empty feeling extended to literally being empty. His stomach growled loudly.

Foggy sighed and looked down at the bottle in his hands, away from the _everything Matt_ that surrounded him. Even food made him think of that giant nerd. Matt would get so wrapped up in study before an exam or a case that he'd forget basic facts like that humans needed fuel to function and that said fuel was food. So Foggy would prod him and present his favourite take out, and Matt would smile gently and thank him and put aside his work and they'd eat together. That very human act of sharing food and company. And Foggy needed to eat or he would die, too, which wouldn't help anyone. So he really needed to get up and walk out and find something to eat. He was pretty sure that he was done crying for now.

Foggy's phone rang and he twisted around, fumbling it out of the pocket of his jacket.

“Foggy Nelson.”

The voice was calm, strong, an older female. “Mr Franklin Nelson?”

“Yes, this is he.”

“This is Mother Caris at Kingsbridge Mission Hospital. Is now a convenient time?”

“Uh, of course. Did you get my number via Hogarth Chao and Benowitz, Mother? How may I help?”

There was a pause. “Mr Nelson. I need to discuss with you a matter that you may find... personally distressing. It concerns a Matthew Murdock.”

 

 


	3. Bricks and mortar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy climbed the steps and paused, hand on the hospital door. His head was a mess and he didn't seem to be able to focus his thoughts, instead incessantly repeating the same loop: Matt was apparently here? But that was impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More interaction and conversation and Foggy POV, nothing much in the way of plot.
> 
> Please let me know if you recognise Mother Caris!

The Kingsbridge Mission Hospital was an unassuming brick building alongside an impressive stone church. Well, what Foggy could see of the church was impressive. The spire was obscured by scaffolding, with several builders at work doing things with blocks of stone. It looked like a big project. There was the occasional call and what were probably dirty jokes, mixed with tapping of chisel on stone, floating down as a descant above the sound of traffic.

Foggy climbed the steps and paused, hand on the hospital door. His head was a mess and he didn't seem to be able to focus his thoughts, instead incessantly repeating the same loop: Matt was apparently here? But that was impossible. Luke had tried to be gentle, but there was no kind way to say that they had left Matt down that hole. The building had gone straight down and it was impossible that Matt could have survived. But. Why would a nun ring Foggy to say that Matt had survived, if he hadn't? How would she even know to contact him, if Matt was dead under a building? Was this an imposter who had heard that Matt was missing and had it in for Foggy, maybe after something in court? Or was it really Matt here?

Mother Caris had been very minimal with details. She'd said that Matt was here and asked Foggy to come when it was convenient. Which, obviously, was immediately.

Foggy squeezed the handle of the duffel bag tighter and squared his shoulders. He pushed the door open, walked in and was greeted by a friendly receptionist. He was pointed down the gleaming corridor in the direction of Mother Caris' office and asked to wait on a wooden bench outside.

Foggy took a seat in the hall and took stock of the hospital. There was no E.R. and things seemed generally pretty calm. There was a quiet background hum of noise and a smell of antiseptic. Still, Matt wouldn't like it much, here.

This didn't make sense. If Matt was, in fact, here, why and how had that happened? Most likely, this was some huge prank which was going to end up torturing Foggy more in the long run. It wasn't Matt. It couldn't be. Foggy didn't think he could survive thinking Matt was back, only to wake to reality. Maybe this was a horrible dream? But it seemed real enough.

The office door opened, scattering his thoughts, and a man stepped out. He was shorter than Foggy and stocky, with red hair, and was wearing a builder's tool belt, his boots and clothes whitened with stone dust. He turned back towards the office, said something in a low voice, then laughed quietly and turned towards the front entrance with a warm smile on his face, nodding at Foggy as he passed. Evidently he and Mother Caris were friends. Foggy didn't know anything about nuns, but the apparent familiarity surprised him.

With a small jolt he remembered again why he was here. Foggy picked up his heart in both hands as he stood to meet Mother Caris at the door. The nun herself was a surprise. She was small and quick, with piercing green eyes, and radiated kind efficiency. She was also much younger than Foggy had expected, only a little older than he himself. She didn't offer her hand.

“Mr Nelson? Please come in.” She swished back into the office, taking her seat behind a desk and motioning to the seat in front of her. She leaned forwards with her elbows on the desk and her hands steepled while she waited for him to put his bag down and take a seat, her serious gaze fixed on Foggy.

“Mr Nelson -"

“Foggy, please.”

She paused, a small crease appearing between her brows, then gave a quick nod, her expression smoothing out. “Foggy. That is what Mr Murdock calls you. I don't wish to waste time as I'm sure you are very eager to see him. But I do feel that we have a couple of things to discuss.”

Foggy was having trouble breathing.

What Matt calls me.

“Mr Murdock was left here. We don't know who brought him here. We have a reputation for providing care to anyone in need, and we find that discretion breeds trust and also mystery. So I'm sorry that I'm unable to address that.”

Foggy interrupted abruptly. “Mother Caris, forgive me. How can I be certain that we are discussing my friend? I don't understand how he could end up here.”

“Of course. This must be... I don't wish to distress you.” She reached into her habit and pulled out a smartphone. Foggy almost laughed from surprise and tension – he hadn't thought that she would have such a thing. She noticed his reaction and shrugged slightly. “I am often needed, and this has its uses.” She handed the phone to him. “This was a couple of weeks ago.”

It was a photo of Matt, asleep with his head on a white pillow. It was not a restful sleep. His skin was waxy and grayish, with bruises, and there was tension visible in the lines of his face. There was a cut over one brow and his hair was sticking up in a messy riot, with stubble that was heading towards a full beard. And he was undeniably Matt, although more injured than Foggy had seen him before. But alive! Hands shaking, Foggy pulled up the details to check the date, which was 2 days after the collapse of Midland Circle.

Foggy's hands were shuddering badly as he placed the phone back on the desk. He breathed out slowly, vaguely aware that the room was blurring. He wiped his eyes then looked up at the nun.

“What did you want to discuss?” How could he be hurting, confused and overjoyed all at once?

Mother Caris had risen and walked to a water cooler in the corner of the room, and now returned with a glass which she placed on the desk in front of Foggy, next to a box of tissues.

“Mr Murdock was badly injured when he arrived here. We have a fully functioning hospital, although without an ICU or HDU. We have several medically trained staff, myself included, and felt we were able to treat Mr Murdock. Had we felt that his injuries were beyond our capabilities, we would have arranged his transfer to Metro General. I do wish for you to understand that he has been well cared for.”

She was watching him closely, searching for his reaction. Foggy had no idea what his face was showing, but evidently it reassured her. “As it was, he did not regain consciousness for five days and even then was not lucid for a further week. The words he repeated most often were ‘Foggy,’ which we now understand as your name, and ‘sorry.’ There were also the names ‘Karen’ and ‘Elektra’.”

“What did he say about us?”

“Nothing that was clear. He was fevered and rambling. While he has been able to communicate clearly with us for some time, he was not forthcoming with information on his identity, nor would he permit us to contact anyone until today.”

This was frustratingly familiar. But there was really nothing Foggy could do about it. It was very Matt to be secretive, even after the conversations about trust and no secrets.

“Eventually, he gave me your name and asked me to contact you. As I mentioned, Foggy, we value discretion.”

Well, that was progress.

Foggy closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Matt was alive and here and he'd asked for Foggy. Recrimination would help no one. Anger and guilt, those old traveling companions, had no place here.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “How is he, now?”

The green eyes were sharp but full of compassion. He could see how she was so senior while being relatively young. “Physically, he is recovering and should have no lasting effects. But at times he has been very disoriented and somewhat distressed, although that is less frequent, now. Lately he has become withdrawn.”

“Withdrawn isn't unusual for Matt.” Foggy massaged the bridge of his nose. “What... what was he wearing when he arrived?”

She paused. Her mouth opened slightly and then closed again. When she spoke, it was cautious. “His garments were damaged beyond repair, I'm afraid. They were disposed of.”

She knew. But she wasn't going to say anything. That was good enough for Foggy.

“Does he know I'm here?”

“He knows that I was to contact you, but I have not spoken with him since before I called you. He expressed concern that you might not come.”

Matt, you idiot.

“Can I see him? Please.”

“Yes, of course. Unless you have further questions?”

Foggy shook his head, unable to think beyond his need to see Matt. Mother Caris rose briskly to her feet. “If you will follow me, please.”

As they walked down more gleaming corridors, the nun explained the history of the convent and the hospital. Foggy barely listened, beyond picking up that there had once been monks here, too, and that Caris herself was an M.D. The hospital wasn't as frenetic as Metro General, but it was busy and strange enough that Foggy knew Matt would find it a hard place to be. Eventually they stopped at a door. Mother Caris knocked quietly, waited a moment, then opened the door.

“Mr Murdock? You have a visitor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think there are two or three more chapters after this. Also, while I do ship Matt and Foggy I also love them as platonic friends and I'm not sure which way they are going to go. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos. This is the first fiction of any sort I've written in nearly 20 years and I'm enjoying it. Hopefully you are, too.


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course he's alive. You already knew that.

Matt was sitting on the bed, face turned towards the door, tension visible in every line. Foggy paused on the threshold, frozen, balanced on the line between reality and dream.

“F-Foggy?”

With that, the spell was broken. Foggy dropped the bag and In three quick strides he was across the room, arms wrapped around Matt. “Matt! Matty!” Matt gave a pained groan and Foggy immediately jerked back, his hands hovering beside Matt's arms.

“Ah, shit, man. Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry.” Foggy was scanning him, examining the greenish remnants of bruises, the deep shadows around Matt's eyes. “Where are you hurt? Can I touch you? God, I can't believe this, Matty-“

“Foggy. I'm fine. A little bruised. C'mere, just... be gentle with me.” Matt gestured with one hand, motioning for Foggy to hug him again. Foggy swallowed, settled himself on the edge of the bed and carefully, so carefully, drew Matt to him. Treating him like he was made of glass and not hot blood, muscle and sinew.

Matt seemed to sink against him, tension flowing out, relaxing against him. “Foggy.” It was little more than a breath and Foggy wasn't sure he was meant to hear it. Foggy glanced over at the door and saw that it had been closed, and it was just the two of them.

They sat like that for a long time, best friends who hadn't expected to see each other again, sharing air and warmth. There for each other, both sniffling quietly. Eventually, Foggy groaned. “Much as I am still trying to convince myself that you're real, this is killing my back.” He pulled back. Matt looked half asleep as he nodded sluggishly. His eyes closed as he eased back against the pillows.

“Foggy. Can I, um. Can I go home with you? Please.”

“Yes, of course. But will they let you go?”

“They can’t legally keep me here against my will. You know that.” Matt's eyes were still closed and he looked exhausted, his words almost slurred.

“Ok buddy, I'll talk to them. But I think you should stay here tonight. It's already pretty late and you don't look like you'd make it as far as the door. I'll come back first thing tomorrow, Ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” Matt reached his hand out towards Foggy, who squeezed it gently. Matt's compliance and lethargy were worrying, but maybe just part of the whole recovering-from-being-squashed-by-a-building thing. Tears were trickling from the corners of Matt's eyes. “Thank you for coming, Fog. I, I...”

“Hey. What's family for, right? Although, you know, I did think that this was some sort of prank. But, being a hopeless optimist and amazing forward thinker, I grabbed some stuff for you.” Foggy let go of Matt's hand to reach for the bag and Matt opened his eyes, looking momentarily stricken until Foggy picked up his hand again. “Hey, I'm still here.”

He riffled through the bag, one handed. “So, being the Murdock expert that I am, I have a selection of things that I think you'll like. At the top here we have your Bible, and another Braille book,” he squinted at the cover, which had no print, “that I think is Marshall. I'll put them here on the bedside table. And there's some clothes – comfy ones – and a pair of sneakers. Luke went back to Midland Circle to look for your stuff because we didn't want anyone using it to link Matt Murdock and Daredevil, and he did find your bag but your phone was smashed and so were your glasses and watch. So I don't have those. Or your cane. Is that something you really need, anyway? Or is it just cover?” Foggy was aware that he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to stop.

“I don't usually need it, but it helps sometimes. I kind of threw it away when Stick...” Matt swallowed and shook his head slightly. “It's gone. But the nuns found another one somewhere, and it's easy enough to get a new one.” Matt gestured to the corner, where a very battered cane was resting against the wall. “That one's a bit short, but I haven't been out of bed much.” He looked very pale. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Hey, no biggie. Really.” Foggy flipped a hand in a display of nonchalance.

“And you can read Braille.”

“Not very well, and I'm a bit out of practice.” He leaned over and looked at the book again. "Yeah, it's Marshall."

A sudden thought flitted across Matt's face. “Foggy,” he said slowly, brows furrowing. “When did you get my things? Did you go to my place after Mother Caris rang you?”

“Erm. No. I, uh, I was there when she rang. The first time I've ever seen it messy. I was going to clean it up, but I hadn't got very far.”

“Oh.” Matt looked slightly embarrassed.

“To be honest, man, I thought she was yanking my chain. But I grabbed this stuff, you know, just in case she wasn't, like, a nun-ish nun...” He trailed off, looking down at their linked hands.

“I'm sorry, Foggy.” Foggy looked up quickly. Matt had closed his eyes again and had turned his face away slightly.

“No. No survivor's guilt," Foggy said firmly. "You don't get to apologise for being here. You never apologise for that.” Foggy switched from mock-scold to light and gentle. “Look, it's late and you're tired. Go to sleep. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep and then I'll go talk to Mother Caris about taking you home tomorrow. And then I'll tell Karen that she was right.

Matt nodded, slightly. “K- Karen? Is she... angry at me? For suiting up then, then, d-dying?”

“Angry? Dude! She's going to be overjoyed. Yeah, she isn't keen on you putting yourself in danger. But finding out you're ok? Seriously, there's nothing better. But let's leave that for tomorrow, please.”

“Mmmm. Ok, Fog.”

Matt's grip was already loosening in his. He had to be completely wiped out. Foggy sat and watched him as his breathing relaxed into sleep, although his face still hadn't entirely lost all its tension.

He wasn't totally sure that he had processed this, or completely believed it yet. But at least he could focus on action. He went looking for Mother Caris.

___

When Foggy arrived at Kingsbridge around mid morning the next day, he found Matt perched on the edge of the bed, duffel bag on the bed beside him and twiddling the battered cane. He'd lost an alarming amount of weight in the last three weeks, but looked perkier than the night before, cocking his head and smiling when Foggy knocked on the open door.

“Ready to boost?’

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, hey, I grabbed these from a bodega. Not quite like your old ones, but we can find some you like better.” He pressed a pair of tinted glasses into Matt's hand, and watched the look of relief wash over Matt's face.

“Thanks, Fog. These are great.” Matt put them on and turned towards Foggy. “What do you think?”

“You're nearly as beautiful as me! Shall we?” Foggy plucked the duffel off the bed and offered his arm, smiling as Matt's fingers wrapped around his elbow.

“So, uh.” Matt stopped, looking sheepish.

“What is it? Did you forget something.”

“No, no. Um, Karen?” Matt dropped his head then tilted it towards Foggy. “She didn't want to come?”

“Aw, man, she was so, so happy. She wants to come round this afternoon, after she finishes something for Ellison, but wild horses couldn't keep her away. I think there's going to be food. That ok with you?”

Karen had, in fact, been less shocked than Foggy. “I knew it,” she had breathed. “I knew he wasn't dead. I could feel it.” She had wanted to see Matt immediately, but had a deadline to meet, plus Foggy had explained how tired Matt still was.

 

Matt smiled and straightened up. “Definitely. I need to say goodbye to some of the nuns. Then I need to get out of here.

“Anything you say, bud.”  
 


	5. God yes, honesty!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's POV. Foggy does the talking.

Matt was thankful that Foggy's new apartment building had an elevator. He probably wouldn't have made it up four flights of stairs, even gripping Foggy's arm for stability. The building smelled clean and rather a step up from the old one. “Moving up in the world are you, Fog?”  
Foggy stopped and produced his keys. “You haven't seen my new apartment yet, have you? Well, welcome to my humble abode!”  
“I didn't see the old one, either.”  
Foggy snorted as he opened the apartment door and Matt followed him through. He slipped off his jacket and handed it to Foggy, who said “I'll hang it on the rack, here on the left.” Matt nodded, and turned his attention to mapping the space in front of him. Foggy moved further to the left and around the corner, and Matt heard the fridge open. “I know it's barely lunchtime, but you want a beer, buddy?”

“Thanks, man. Hey, can I get some directions? I'm still feeling a little... off.” Matt slid his hand along the wall to his right, feeling a door.

“Sure. That's a cupboard. The hall's in front of you, first door on the right is mine and the second is yours. Bathroom straight ahead, at the end.” Matt moved down the hall, feeling the space to the left close in as his cane tapped past the first open door, which smelled strongly of Foggy. The next door was closed and he didn't bother opening it. He reached the end and turned around, trailing his right hand along the wall as he walked back towards the front door. The wall ended and he turned 90° to his right.

“Dining table straight ahead, kitchen to the left, and over here? Couch and libations!” Foggy was to the right and in front of him. “The TV’s on the wall you're touching.” Matt clicked his fingers twice, listening as the sound bounced off walls and furniture, lighting up his mental impression of the space. He walked over to the couch, skirting the (new) coffee table which mercifully had no protruding legs, and sank down next to Foggy, bracing his ribs. He dropped the cane on the floor beside the couch and leaned back, muffling a small groan.

“Beer here.” Foggy tapped lightly against the back of Matt's hand and Matt wrapped his fingers around the cool bottle, feeling the perspiration beading against the glass. Foggy's warmth was along his arm, his comforting scent right there. He allowed himself to relax. He took a small sip and turned his head towards Foggy.

“So, what's new?”

There was a beat of silence, in which he could feel Foggy gaping at him, then they both burst into gusts of laughter. Matt's laughter quickly turned to gasps and he wrapped his arm across his ribs, bracing against the heaving of his chest. This wasn't great, it was hurting too much and he didn't want to dissolve into a coughing fit. He gasped for breath, trying to breathe smoothly. Foggy had plucked the bottle from Matt's grasp and had his hand on Matt's back, rubbing gently. “Breathe, Matty. Easy does it.”

Matt's breathing evened out, the rales quietening. They were still distinctly there, but his lung tissue was healing. Easy does it, indeed. He wheezed and leaned back against the couch and Foggy’s side. Foggy had slung his arm over Matt's shoulders and was now rubbing his other arm. “Don't make a habit of that, ok buddy?”

Mat nodded, still focussing on his breath.

“Oh, hey! I need your help with some internet shopping! Well, it's not very exciting and it's for you.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, breathing more easily now.

“You need a new cane. I was going to get you one but the options are way too complicated. I don't know what material you like, or what kind of tip. Or even how long. I hadn't realised that you even had those choices. Hang on, I'll find the site on my phone... Oh, oh, oh, you could get a red one, or a black one! Or pink stripes!”

Matt shook his head. “Seriously, Fog, what am I, 14? Plain white is fine for me. I think my last one had red on the end. That might just be standard.” He talked Foggy through his specifications, the same as he'd been getting for years. It was such a routine thing, ordering a new cane, but strangely comforting to have Foggy want to do it for him.

“There. I've ordered 4. You can keep a spare here, in case of dumpster emergencies. Or whatever.”

“Thanks man. You know, you don't need to do this, having me stay, replacing my things. I can look after myself.”

Foggy tensed, and there was silence for a few moments. When he spoke again it was slow, cautious.

“Matt. Why do you think I'm doing this? Why do you think you're here?”

The question took Matt by surprise. “Ah, well, honestly Fog-"

“Yes, God yes, honesty! Please!”

“Um, ok. I don't know why. You feel responsible for me? I asked and you feel obligated?”

“Argh, no!” Foggy took his arm from Matt's shoulders and rubbed at his face with his hand. “Matt! You are a brilliant lawyer but you aren't smart about people. You don't understand friendship.”

Matt started to protest but Foggy cut him off with a raised hand.

“You don't. I'm going to say this once, so prick up those super ears of yours and listen good. You are my best friend and I love you. You are important to me. I want you to be safe, and right now that means having you here where you can sleep and I can feed you – do not mock my cooking skills, Murdock! And it means making sure you have a cane so when you want to go somewhere people give you space and you don't fall down any open manholes. And it means finding glasses for you because I know feel safer with them on. And mostly, it means having you here because I _like_ you and I've missed you and I am so fucking happy that you're here.” Foggy’s voice was firm and there wasn't a hint of a lie in his heartbeat.

Matt felt small. “I-, I didn't realise.”

“I know. And I know that you don't talk about this. But, Matt, this is a thing in trauma survivors. They don't feel like they are worthy of care. You go out and try to protect a whole goddam city, but you refuse to let anyone look after _you._ I mean, you usually get stitched up or whatever, although I know you often do it yourself. But you refuse anything beyond that. And I think it's because you don't think you're worth it, or that people don't care, and that's where you're so, so wrong. And I'm really pissed that it's because a few really shitty things happened to you that you feel this way. And those things weren't your fault. And they made you value yourself so little that you decided to die down a hole!”

Foggy's breath was shallower and thicker, on the verge of tears. Matt didn't know how to respond to any of this, so he offered a hand to Foggy, who gripped it tightly.

Foggy swallowed and sniffed then spoke again quietly. “Thank you for asking Mother Caris to call me. I can't tell you how happy I am to have you back, Matt. Thinking you were dead was the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”

“I'm sorry, Fog.”

“No, I told you, no apologies, no survivor's guilt. Don't get me wrong, I'm still angry at you for staying down there. But I do understand why you had to. You and your drive to protect, to redeem. But it was definitely inconvenient. Marci started asking questions.”

“Marci?”

“Yeah. She noticed that you weren't around and I hadn't mentioned you. That woman is scarily smart. I hadn't been able to work out an explanation for your disappearance. I was pretending I just hadn't seen you lately, playing it cool, when inside I knew you were dead. It hurt so much keeping it from the world.” Matt squeezed Foggy's hand tightly and leaned against his arm, blinking back tears. Foggy pulled his hand away and wrapped it firmly around Matt's shoulders. Matt gave a small gasp as his ribs protested.

Foggy immediately loosened his arm and started to pull it away. “Shit, sorry man.” Matt grabbed the arm to stop it leaving and shuffled slightly, adjusting his position so his back was leaning against Foggy's chest. Foggy settled his arm firmly but gently, so gently.

“I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Foggy. Again.” Matt closed his eyes and felt tears cut tracks on his cheeks.

“Yeah I already told you to stop that.” Foggy sighed. “Look. You, Matthew Murdock, are a massive pain in my ass. You're a mess of issues and guilt, contradictions and high morals. And you are one of the best people I've ever met.”

“That might be going a bit far, Fog.” Matt ran his fingers along his jaw, feeling the prick of stubble, the salty liquid coating his fingertips.

“Hey, not just anyone gets to be my best buddy! I have great taste.” Foggy sighed again. “You know perfectly well that I'm not overjoyed about the whole Daredevil thing. But I know you better than you give me credit for, and I know that it's as much a part of you as your goofy grin. And I'd much rather have _him_ here than lose _you_ again.”

Matt turned that one over in his head. Foggy had brought him the suit at the Harlem precinct, and seemed genuine now. Could they establish a new peace? A new way of being that included all of Matt? Puzzling it out was going to require too much brain power for how tired he was right now, and he let himself drift.

“Have you told Claire, Jess, Luke and Danny?” He was mumbling again, cushioned in softness. Foggy was so familiar. So constant. He'd really missed this, since the end of Nelson & Murdock. The sound and smell and feel of him had been painfully absent for too long.

“No, I hadn't even thought about them. I've seen them all a couple of times. Jess seems to like you. She even came and lit a candle for you when Karen and I were at church. I'd better let them know before she realises and breaks down the door.” Matt listened vaguely as Foggy talked about light things, what his new neighbours were like, how there was a woman on the floor below who had smiled at him a couple of times.

Matt felt himself slipping into sleep, but Foggy brought him back with a gentle shake. “Let's get you in bed, man. You're not trapping me. Here, up we go.”

Matt grumbled a protest at being treated like a child, but really he didn't have the energy to put up a fight. He let Foggy lead him to the bedroom and eased him down onto the bed. Foggy pulled off his shoes, then Matt was leaning back into a bank of pillows. Matt let himself enjoy Foggy's fussing as he tucked the quilt around Matt's shoulders. Matt slid one hand out and grabbed Foggy's retreating wrist. “Thank you,” he whispered, and closed his eyes, not letting go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, and I've got ideas for some other things. So it looks like my first fic is the start of something. 
> 
> Don't be afraid to comment! It makes me happy.


	6. You're not dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluff to finish you off.

_“I'm going to kick his ass.”_

_“No, you're not.”_

_“Oh come on! Everything he said about stopping, everything we went through, and then he chose to stay down there.”_

_“Ok, yeah, while I respect your right to be pissed off, now is not the time. Bawl him out later, just... Not today. He's really not himself. When we were talking before it was weird. He listened to me. He wasn't defensive, didn't shut me down. He asked me to be gentle with him. So, today, can you just show him that you're happy to see him?”_

__________

  
Matt woke to the smell of something delicious, and the sound of quiet voices. Karen was here. He lay back, listening to the city around him. It was maybe early evening, judging by flow of traffic outside and the domestic sounds of cooking from neighbouring apartments. Matt swung his legs out of the bed and rose unsteadily to his feet, taking care to protect his ribs. He could still feel the residual effects of the head injury and hoped his balance would improve soon. He padded along the hall, running his fingertips over the ridges in the large design embossed on the wallpaper.

He rounded the corner and Karen burst out laughing.

“You need a haircut, Mr Murdock.” She walked up to him, touching his arm and brushing a kiss against his cheek before sliding her arms around him.

“Hello, Miss Page,” he smiled into her hair. Lemon scent, light and comfortingly familiar.

“Don't scare me like that again,” She whispered. He started to withdraw but she held him tighter. “You matter to me. I like having you around. Do you understand?”

He relaxed again and nodded. She was definitely going to want to talk later, but it could wait.

“Has your grandma been sending you more recipes? Whatever it is, it smells amazing.”

“Hey! How do you know I haven't been cooking,” Foggy cried, mock outrage in his voice.

“Buddy, I’ve known you for years. I know you're not capable of more than ramen and toast.”

Karen's laugh tinkled as she released him and slipped an arm through his, leading him to the table. “It is indeed a Grandma special. Sit. Are you allowed to drink?”

There was a bottle of red wine breathing on the table. “Wine? Maybe just a small one.” Karen sat down beside him and poured him a glass. “Hey, what's the time?”

Foggy answered from the kitchen. “Just after six. You slept a long time, pal.”

Matt stretched and sighed. “Yeah, I know. I've done a lot of that lately. I hate waking and not knowing how much time has passed.” He could tell that Foggy and Karen were exchanging a look.

Karen jumped up from the table, going to the door and rummaging in her handbag. “Matt, I knew this would be important to you, so Foggy and I got you something.” She placed something firm on the table in front of him and Matt slid his hand across to touch a box. The box was long, thin and plastic, and had Braille on it.

“The Bradley Tpiece?” Matt read. “Designed! Touch and see.” He laughed and cocked his head at Karen. “What is this?” Karen made a small noise of anticipation.

The plastic sleeve slid off to reveal a cardboard box underneath. There was more Braille on the box, and inside was a manual, again in Braille, which he set aside. Nestled in the bottom of the box was a watch, unlike any other watch he'd owned. There was no lid to protect the hands, and no hands at all. Instead there were raised markers placed around the face, and a circular groove set in the face with a ball bearing inside. There was another groove with another ball bearing running around the outside edge.

“The ball on the face is for hours and the outside edge ball is for minutes.” Karen sounded excited.

“6:22.” Matt fastened the watch and held his arm up. “How does it look?”

“Very stylish! It suits you. It's black.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “But then, it was chosen by a woman of impeccable taste.”

Matt laughed. “Thank you, guys.” He was feeling teary again. His friends understood that the small things could make the difference between dependence and independence. “Really. This... this means a lot to me.”

“We know, man.” Foggy put a hot dish in the centre of the table and leaned across to pat Matt's shoulder. “Right now, though, it would be a tragedy to waste this delicious food. So let's tuck in.”

Foggy's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and his heart jumped as looked at it. “Shit. It's Marci. She'll kick my ass if I let it go to voice mail. She was asking about you yesterday, Matt, and I kind of ran away. Sorry... Hi, Marce.”

 _“Foggy bear. I didn't know you could move so fast. Did you talk to Murdock, or is now when you admit that his body is buried in your basement?”_ Matt choked on his mouthful of wine.

“What did she say,” Karen whispered. “He's gone pink!” Matt shook his head and coughed.

“Um, he's a bit under the weather right now but next week might suit him. Hang on.. Hey Matt, the fembot wants to lure us out with drinks. Maybe not this week?” Matt shook his head vehemently, “Next week instead?”

Matt nodded reluctantly. “I might have to see how I'm feeling.”

“He says-"

_“Put him on. I'm not convinced you aren't lying to me again.”_

Wearily, Foggy held out the phone to Matt. “Hello, Counsellor Stahl,” Matt said, in his best lawyer voice. “What can I do for you?”

 _“You're not dead. Well, that's good news! Couldn't have had Foggy Bear moping forever. I'll see you next week. Byeeee.”_ The line went dead.

Matt shrugged and held the phone out. “Are you dishing up, Foggy?”

___________

Later, they watched Toy Story together, Matt wedged between Foggy and Karen. He had the distinct impression that they were anchoring themselves to him, afraid that if they didn't he might drift off out of their reach. Foggy kept up his usual descriptions of the action on the screen, which Matt wasn't really following anyway, not with the fuzz of two glasses of red wine. Karen had wrapped herself around his arm and was holding his hand. He was absorbed in the sensations of these two people who cared about him, who wanted him in their lives.

Foggy's soft warmth and steady heartbeat were on his left, Karen's light lemon smell to his right, her head resting on his shoulder, her hair tickling his ear. He felt truly safe and allowed himself to relax for the first time in a long time. Even the sounds of the city seemed muted. And as he drifted off into sleep he thought that just maybe, with this small family, things might be ok.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was fun. Life has become pretty busy again, but I'm going to think about doing something more plot-driven. What do you think?
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos. This was very anxiety-inducing, so the feedback was lovely.
> 
> If you're unfamiliar with The Bradley, here it is:   
> https://www.eone-time.com   
> (If someone can tell me how to insert a link, I'd be grateful)

**Author's Note:**

> I started a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/runpogorun) so come and follow me!


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